


make our faces vizards to our hearts

by anisstaranise



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Character Death, Gun Violence, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 09:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11733852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: He strains through the semi-darkness of the street, eyes scanning along the row of cars parked by the curb. His heart trashes in his chest, hope blooming painfully. Did he just catch a glimpse of green-eyes peering at him?





	make our faces vizards to our hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Seblaine Week 2017](http://seblaineaffairs.tumblr.com/tagged/sw2017): _Day 2: Undercover._
> 
> Title from Shakespeare's **Macbeth** Act 3, Scene 2.

A sliver of silver moonlight peeks through the wisps of cloud, the crescent moon hanging high in the night sky. The thumping bass of music from a nearby club’s opened doors wafts down the street, the city thrumming with life despite sweltering in the summer heat.

He leaves the restaurant after his dinner with his brother, Cooper, sated by the exquisite tagliatelle with black truffle cream and fine selection of wine; his brother always had a taste for the finer things. The soles of his leather shoes clack against the pavement, incredibly uncomfortable in the heat but going to dinner with Cooper meant being dressed to the nines. He’s always had this habit of wanting to impress his brother- and old habits die hard.

A tall and burly man, Andre, walks ahead of him as they head to their parked car. Another man, equally tall and burly, Vincente, walks at the back of him, close at his heels. He’s been assigned a tighter security detail at Cooper’s request as of late. Always the overprotective big brother that Cooper, he thinks.

He turns to take in the sights of the city; from the great trees of Central Park to the glinting lights of the skyscrapers. A gust of summer breeze swirls around him and he slows his pace, basking in whatever reprieve from the heat he can get. There’s a prickling at the back of his neck, his hairs standing on end. He chalks it up to the sudden change in temperature, the brisk air cooling- but there’s something nagging in his gut.

The pale moonlight catches something in the shadows. He stops in his tracks. Someone’s watching him, he can feel it.

“Ev’rything okay, boss?” Vincente asks, his North Jersey accent thick in his tone.

He strains through the semi-darkness of the street, eyes scanning along the row of cars parked by the curb. His heart trashes in his chest, hope blooming painfully. Did he just catch a glimpse of green-eyes peering at him?

Impossible, he thinks.

“Boss?” Andre calls again, a hand resting on his holstered gun at his hip.

“Everything’s fine, Andre,” he says, forcing a smile. “I thought I saw something.”

They resume their walk back to the car, a sleek, black Audi parked just a few feet ahead. His soles crunch on asphalt, his footfalls heavy with a hollowness. He shakes his head to chase the image of green-eyes away. Logic gets the better of him; there’s no way he could have seen anyone looking at him in the dark, let alone tell the colour of their eyes.

But he can’t shake that nagging feeling in his gut again.

Perhaps it’s only because he wants it to be green eyes; the green eyes he’s been missing all these months. Perhaps the heat is playing tricks on him, creating a mirage of his deepest desires.

 _Stop looking for him,_ he chastises himself. _He’s gone._

Above them, the clouds move with the breeze and hide the moon, turning the night a shade darker. He looks up to the sky, wondering how six months ago he had been at his happiest and then the next moment his happiness is gone... like the moon disappearing behind dark clouds.

 As they approach the black Audi, the driver side door opens. His driver, Jackson, steps out to greet him.

“Good dinner, Mr. Anderson?” Jackson says, his brown face alight with the brightest smile.

“Good as any when Cooper’s involved,” he jests, clapping his driver once on the back as he climbs into the back of the car.

Jackson laughs, his kind eyes smiling along; Jackson is like family to him, having driven his brother and their father before being assigned to chauffeur him. The man has known him all his life yet insists on calling him _Mr. Anderson_. Loyalty and professionalism made the man, he thinks.

Once he’s in the car, his security details follow suit; Vincente takes a seat next to him while Andre climbs in the passenger side. The engine purrs to life as Jackson takes his place behind the wheel but no sooner had they pulled out of the lot, the tires screech and the car halts; a black SUV had swerved to block their path.

“Jackson, what’s the matter?” he wants to ask but everything is happening fast, like a movie reel set to fast forward.

He sees his bodyguards unholster their guns. The next moment, the windscreen shatters, the sound of gunfire deafening. He feels his head and body being forcefully pushed down, his body flattened against the seat.

“Stay down, boss,” Vincente yells.

The door on his side suddenly swings open and a figure clad in black shoots into the car. The bullet catches his bodyguard in the chest. He freezes, limbs numb, unable to tear his eyes away from the man lying lifeless next to him, his black shirt a hue darker where he bleeds.

He feels the seat move from under him. It took a while for him to realize that he’s being pulled- no, yanked- out of the car. His assailant tries to lock his arms behind him but his fight instinct kicks in and he drives his head back as hard as he can into the man’s face. There’s a satisfying crunch that follows; he knows he’s broken the man’s nose.

His flight instinct uncoils within, his feet ready to flee. But before he manages to find his bearings, two more men grab him by his arms. When he struggles, they drive him hard into the side of car, subduing his fight. That’s when he sees them; Andre sits motionless against the unbroken window of the passenger side, Jackson slumps over the steering wheel, eyes opened, unseeing.

“No,” he whimpers.

Then, everything is dark. He tries to struggle out of the black hood pulled over his head, the musty smell of the cloth filling his nose. He yelps when something pinches the flesh around both his wrists too hard- a zip tie, he gathers. His hands are bound.

One of the assailants tugs at his dinner jacket, pulling him in an unseen direction. He hears the rumbling of the SUV’s engine getting louder. The darkness impedes his balance, almost falling over twice. The man leading him by the arm shouts commands at him but he doesn’t understand a word. Cantonese, he deduces.

That’s when it hits him; these are the men from the Heilong Triad, the reason why Cooper assigned protective details to accompany him everywhere for the past week.

Panic burns in his veins, his breathing laboured. The Heilong Triad has been targeting Cooper’s business territory for years- with Cooper in control of two of the five boroughs- but they’ve never made any significant moves, never anything violent- until tonight. Surely abducting the brother of notorious arms dealer Cooper Anderson will grant them leverage.

Just as he’s being shoved into the waiting SUV, three shots are fired, the sound ringing in his ears. He hears pained whimpers. One return fire. Two more shots.

And then- silence.

Suddenly, he feels someone grabbing at his arm, trying to pull him up. He starts kicking wildly on instinct, doing what it takes to make it through unharmed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” a voice says, loud yet consoling. “Blaine- it’s okay.”

His body grows rigid, his feet cease their movements. He knows that voice, he has missed that voice.

The cool press of something metal touches the skin at his wrist. With a snip, his hands come free. He frantically pulls off the cloth covering his head, blinking away the darkness.

Slowly, his eyes start to focus. There, before him, like the moonlight breaking through clouds, he finds green eyes looking at him. With bated breath, he slowly reaches for the person’s face. And when the pads of his fingers touch something solid, something real, he can feel the tell-tale signs of his heart threatening to burst with happiness.

“It’s you,” he breathes. “Tommy, it’s really you.”

\---

The room buzzes with the sound of the overhead fluorescent lamps, flooding the spaces in bright light. His fists clench and unclench on the table before him, the metal surface cool but there’s a heat simmering within him.

“You’re a cop,” he says.

He looks at the man sitting across from him dressed in a dark blue polo shirt, a gleaming police badge hanging from a chain around his neck. He carefully regards the familiar green eyes, the sandy brown hair, the man he knows as Tommy O’Shea; the man he’s loved for the past two years.

“Yes.”

He feels his bones tremble at the confession.

“The last six months...” he starts to say but the words feel too heavy on his tongue.

He watches keenly as the man before him moves to run a hand over his face, down the back of his neck; it was something Tommy used to do when he was frustrated or when he was at a loss for words. He can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that this is the man he loves, yet everything about him feels unfamiliar; a stranger.

He feels his heart crack in his chest, the pain numbing.

“The last six months- The night of the raid-”

The stranger sighs. “I had to leave.”

“Why?” he asks.

He notes how the stranger clenches his jaws; another of Tommy’s traits when he was upset. “I was pulled out of the taskforce.”

Taskforce. Cop. Who are you, he wants to ask.

“Two years,” he says instead, seething. “You lied to me- for two years.”

“Blaine-”

He shuts his eyes, the sound of his name on the lips of the man he loves sends his heart racing; it’s euphoric and it’s heartbreaking at the same time.

“I was your way to Cooper, wasn’t I?”

It hurts to say aloud but it’s plain as day; just as the Heilong Triad tried to abduct him to have the upper hand with Cooper, the New York Police Department had tried to do the same by sending an undercover cop to infiltrate his brother’s business.

He was collateral damage- so was his heart.

Suddenly the room feels too small, the air thinning. His heart hurts too much to bear. There’s a raging conflict within him; he’s incredibly happy to see the man he loves again but his being here reveals a betrayal so deep that he finds it difficult to breathe.

The chair scrapes against the cement floor, screeching as he stands up abruptly.

“Blaine- you can’t go,” the stranger begs. “Not yet.”

“Why? Are you charging me with something?”

He watches the man shift his weight from one foot to the other, a very Tommy thing to do when he was feeling indecisive. It hurts to notice all the little things he’s missed, only to be reminded that this man isn’t the man he loves, not really.

“No,” the stranger finally says.

“Then I have no reason to be here,” he says, gathering his coat that was folded behind the chair. “I’ve given my statement. Now, if you’ll excuse, I just lost my friends.” His heart bleeds for the loss of Jackson and his bodyguards. “I have funerals to arrange.”

His steps echo in the small room, his footfalls too loud as he strides towards the door. The stranger stands unmoving, blocking the doorway.

“I wanted to tell you,” the stranger says, his green eyes shining with something a lot like an apology. “For so long, Blaine- I wanted to tell you.”

“But you didn’t!” he snaps. “You had two years to tell me something- _anything_ , but you didn’t.”

Two years worth of lies.

He steps around the stranger, breathing ragged from all the hurt, the anger, the heartache. Halfway out the door, he stops, a question burns too hot to ignore.

“If you can tell me one truth- tell me this-” he says, his hands shaking.

The stranger steps closer and despite what he’s learned, despite the betrayal, it takes all he has not to run into those arms.

“Anything.”

“Your name,” he asks. “Your real name.”

A small smile curls at the stranger’s lips and it breaks his heart all over.

A moment passes before the answer comes. “Sebastian.”

 _Sebastian_ , he silently tries it on his tongue.

Tears sting his eyes as he turns to walk away, his heart constricting around the name. _Sebastian_. He feels a fresh break in his heart and he wonders how it’s possible for his already broken heart to break anymore.

\---

The city below withers in the summer heat but in the Executive Suite on the twenty-second floor, the room is set to a moderately cool temperature, the central air-conditioning humming through the vents.

He’s hunched over the grand mahogany desk where Cooper sits, his brother’s intricate fountain pen hovering over documents he set before him, the papers rustling as he turns the pages. He taps on the paper along the allocated lines where Cooper is to sign or set down his initials, following his multi-coloured tabs that he’s meticulously stuck at the fringes of the company’s monthly progress report.

Anderson & Sons is their grandfather’s legacy, having built the company from scratch after breaking into the oil and gas industry. Like his grandfather, he’s the company’s expert in geosciences, handling most of the day to day dealings with the industry.

Cooper, on the other hand, has always been the business mind behind the company- like their father had been. His brother brokers deals and secures contracts that enable the company to grow and profit. But deals and contracts in the oil and gas industry doesn’t quite cut it for Cooper; he wanted something more thrilling, something more lucrative.

Running an oil and gas company granted Cooper access to the different sides of the business world; there’s the straight and narrow path- and then there’s the dark markets. The latter is where Cooper thrives.

Dark markets are never short of a demand for weapons and defence technologies. And where there’s demand, one would do well to supply, Cooper would say, never pledging allegiance to anyone’s interest but his own- the concierge of arms dealing.

Just as he closes the binder of the last signed documents, there’s a knock on the door of Cooper’s suite.

“Yes?” Cooper calls from his desk, sliding his pen into his shirt’s chest pocket.

Jamal, Cooper’s head of security enters the suite, holding the door open behind him.

He gathers all the binders, preparing to leave but stops when two more men enter; one dressed in the standard dark suit worn by all members of the security team, the other dressed in dark blue hues worn by the officers of the New York Police Department.

“Sebastian,” he breathes, like whispering a secret into the ether.

Cooper stands, a wide smile etched on his face as he buttons up his tailor-made suit. “Tommy O’Shea,” his brother says in a sing song voice. The greeting seems cordial but below its surface it’s barbed with iciness.

His lungs burn, deprived of air; he hadn’t realized he’s holding his breath. It’s been two days since he last saw Sebastian, two days since he had found out Sebastian had been an undercover cop planted to worm his way through to uncover Cooper’s criminal dealings under the guise of Tommy O’Shea.

Cooper rounds his desk, perching on his thigh at the edge of it as he runs his fingers through his stylishly groomed auburn hair. “It’s been a while, Tommy. Or do you go by _Detective_ Sebastian Smythe these days?”

There’s venom dripping in Cooper’s tone, a smile so eerily cold on his lips.

He eyes Sebastian nervously, his heart’s frantic beating loud in his ears.

“It’s Officer Smythe these days,” Sebastian says, chest puffed out, shoulders set straight, his stance defying any intimidation.

Cooper chuckles, amused. “Yes, _Officer_. I’ve read your file; demoted from detective to a beat cop for insubordination.” Cooper deliberately drags the syllables of _insubordination_ , goading, as if to pour salt in an open wound.

Sebastian clenches his jaw, clearly agitated by Cooper’s taunt. His eyes trip between the two men, sweat beading along his hairline despite the controlled temperature of the suite. His brother is, for the most part, always calm and collected, but he can be unpredictable. Whatever hurt Sebastian has caused, he can’t shake his want, his _need_ to protect Sebastian from his brother’s unpredictability. Why did Cooper summon Sebastian here?

“Two years,” his brother states, his steely gaze aimed at Sebastian. “Did you learn anything good while you were undercover? While you were lying to my brother?

“Cooper-” he finally finds his voice but his brother raises a hand dismissively, halting anymore words from his lips.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen Blaine so enamoured, so happy,” Cooper says, standing up and padding over to where Sebastian stands. “I loved you like a brother because my brother loved you, trusted you.”

Hurt bleeds into anger in Cooper’s tone, the betrayal cutting his brother deeper than he had imagined. It wasn’t just about the business to Cooper; it’s personal, too. He watches as Sebastian stands his ground, his eyes never leaving Cooper’s gaze.

“And in all my years, I’ve never seen my brother so brokenhearted,” his brother says, turning to look at him. “Anguished.”

He meets his brother’s gaze, piercing blue eyes he inherited from their father brimming with affection. His chest clenches under the weight of his brother’s love for him- Cooper would do anything to ensure his safety, his happiness. He would do the same for Cooper in a heartbeat.

Cooper turns his attention back to Sebastian. “Now, I’m absolutely livid that you’re a cop, that you pretended to be someone I could trust with my operations just to win some gold stars with the Commissioner or whoever’s feet you grovel at- but for crushing my brother’s heart-” Cooper hisses, moving closer to Sebastian until their noses are almost touching, standing at his full height, his words like serrated knives. “- I should kill you where you stand.”

He gasps at the threat; Cooper isn’t one to make empty promises.

Then, Cooper laughs.

Some of the tension seeps out from his shoulders, his chest relaxing slightly with every inhale-exhale of his breath. His chest unknots from an unspoken fear yet he’s still high-strung, skin thrumming with caution.

Cooper walks back to his desk and fiddles with a box he pulled out from one of the drawers, tracing the lid carefully. He watches as his brother lifts the lid but the contents are unseen from where he stands.

“That night you disappeared, the night at the warehouse- your case file said that it was a sting op,” Cooper says, eyeing the content of the box with interest.

His eyes tick to Sebastian, silently begging for an explanation. That night at the warehouse, he was supposed to be there to appraise a tectonic weapon Cooper had procured for a buyer. It wouldn’t have been the first time he consulted for Cooper’s arms deals with weapons that would have geological impacts. But he had been late that night, mixing up the time of the meeting.

How could it have been a sting op, a ruse when he had been the one to set up the meeting with the dealers?

“You weren’t supposed to be at that meet.”

Sebastian remains quiet, his jaws flexing, lips pursed as if to keep words from slipping past.

“The incident with the Heilongs- you have a tendency to be where you’re not supposed to be, don’t you, officer?” his brother breathes. For the first time since this spontaneous meeting with Sebastian began, Cooper’s tone softened. “You saved my brother’s life.”

Suddenly his chest feels bigger than his body can sustain; he had been too distressed after learning of Sebastian’s betrayal and too devastated by the loss of friends- they weren’t _just_ a driver and security details to him- that he hadn’t had the space to process the fact that he had been in danger that night, that he too, could have died. And Sebastian had saved him. Gratitude blooms within, the sensation dizzying.

Cooper turns his face to Sebastian, his blue eyes glinting. “For that, I am forever in your debt,” his brother says, his words laden with sincerity.

Then, quick as lightning, Cooper pulls something out from the box. He briefly catches a blurry glint of gold and shine- and then- a bright spark.

The room quakes under a booming sound. Sebastian falls to the floor, clutching his right knee, a pained scream filling the suite.

He stares at Sebastian in shock, the cream-coloured carpet beneath him stained red.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Cooper stride towards Sebastian, a golden gun in hand; a gift he had received from one of his shady business deals. There’s a string of cold sweat on his brow as he watches his brother stand over the man he loves, gun primed to his head.

The man he _loves_ , he thinks in the span of milliseconds. Not _loved_. _Loves_. Present tense. Current. Still.

Without a thought, the binders fall from his hands as he races to Sebastian’s side, crouching protectively over him.

“Cooper, please-” he begs. “Please don’t.”

A long, bated moment passes before his brother slowly lowers the gun, that cold smile traipsing on his lips. “Like I said, I am forever in your debt for saving Blaine’s life,” Cooper snarls. “That is the only thing keeping you alive right now.”

\---

The clanging of woks and the sound of cooking dominated the spaces around him, the shouted commands and the hollered replies turning the kitchen in something of a controlled chaos. Steam wafts as he passes by a massive soup pot on the stove, gingerly following a concierge towards the restaurant.

Through the swinging doors, the chaotic sounds of the kitchen are muted, replaced by the quiet din of patrons dining; the gentle scrapes of cutlery on plates, the soft clinking of glasses. Red _tang long_ lanterns hang tastefully from the ceiling, their electric glow setting a calm ambience in the Chinese restaurant.

A door in a secluded corner is held opened for him, the room within dimly lit. When he steps through, he notes the candles lining a wall under a prayer altar, tendrils of smoke from joss sticks curling in the still air. There’s a massive round table in the middle of the room, the antique carved beech and marble top gleaming in what little light bathed the private suite.

“Blaine Anderson,” greets the man sitting at the table, bamboo _dim sum_ baskets scattered in disarray before him. “Come in, friend.”

His skin shudders at the word. “Have a care with the word. I am not your friend.”

Laughter fills the room. The man stands from his place at the table, stepping into the light as he approaches while two henchmen stand protectively in the corner.

He regards the man who had invited him here tonight cautiously, noting the sharp set of his cheekbones, the heavy eye-liner painted around his eyes, the spruce-slicked hair; Mike Chang, leader of the Heilong Triad.

“Still sore about the attempted kidnapping last month, I see,” Mike says, circling him like a vulture in the sky.

Anger simmers in his veins at the thought of all that had transpired that dreaded night. “Three of my men were killed. My friends!” he hissed.

“Regrettable,” Mike replies thoughtfully. “But _all’s fair in love and war_ , as they say.”

His anger is boiling now, his patience dwindling. “Why have you called me here? What it is that you wanted to discuss?”

Mike stops his circling as his hand fiddles with the cuff of his silk shirt. “I invited you here to offer a truce.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. Truce. Of course.

For the past six weeks, Cooper had launched an assault against the Triads in the best way he could; he had called in favours from all his powerful connections, moved pieces strategically in the dark markets and rendered the Heilong Triads and their business inept, hopeless- all without drawing a single drop of blood. His brother is a pacifist, after all- an ironic trait for someone who makes a fortune from arms dealing.

“What’s the matter?” he says through a smile, mocking. “Business taking a turn for the worst?”

Mike takes a threatening step forward, a growl rumbling low in his throat. “The attempted abduction was a misjudgement on my part. It was made out of desperation, not strategy. Like I said, regrettable.”

He hears the sincere apology in the Triad leader’s tone as he watches Mike resume his circling.

“There are five boroughs here, enough for everyone. I only mean to be... diplomatic.”

“I have no sway over my brother’s business,” he says carefully. “Whatever truce should be made with him.”

“You underestimate your value, _friend_ ,” Mike says, turning the word over like a mockery of his own. “What you say tonight carries more weight for both our businesses, our families than you may think.”

The candles flicker in the corner, casting a grim shadow across of Mike’s face when the Triad leader stops his circling, standing in front of the opened door as if he purposely means to block the exit. He hears the underlying threat in the Triad leader’s words; _truce, or we will retaliate with force_.

The anger in him whispers like a sweet lover in his ear, a truce is too easy. The Triads should suffer for what they did to Jackson, to Andre, to Vincente.

“A truce implies a need for temporary respite between two suffering parties,” he says, anger boiling, his tone cold. “Funny-,” he scoffs. “-as I understand it, the only suffering party here is yours. So, why should I give you the satisfaction of a truce?”

The Triad leader’s eyes darken as he takes a step closer. “You overestimate my hospitality here, Anderson. Whatever is within these four walls is mine for the taking. What you do not _give_ , I can easily _take_.”

The words are laced with venom, a promise of the worst yet to come. Behind him, he hears the racking of slides. He can _feel_ the henchmen’s guns trained on him from a distance.

Then, a figure slips into the room and comes up fast behind the Triad leader, quiet as a shadow. He watches Mike startle as the figure presses the barrel of his gun to the man’s head.

“It would be wise for your men to not point their guns at my boyfriend,” the figure snarls.

He smiles wide. Sebastian- ever his guardian shadow.

Six weeks ago, he had sat by Sebastian’s hospital bed, awaiting him to come out of his anaesthesia-induced sleep; Sebastian had needed surgery to repair the damages to his knee he had suffered from Cooper’s gunshot.

The steady beeping of the monitor had kept him company as he waited all night. He needed answers.

“I wanted to tell you- who I was,” Sebastian had said once he had woken up. “I wanted to tell you so badly.”

“Then tell me now,” came his reply, persuading Sebastian to divulge all.

“The taskforce wanted to catch you in the act of a deal,” Sebastian had explained. “They wanted to use you against Cooper, so that he would willingly give himself up for your release, trade his freedom for yours. They knew Cooper would do anything for you.”

“So, you changed the time,” he had said, everything finally falling into place. He was supposed to make the appraisal at the warehouse. Sebastian had purposely moved up the time of the meet behind his back so he would miss it.

“My superiors suspected that I tipped you off, that I had something to do with their op failing,” Sebastian continued.

“They’re half right,” he had chuckled, surprised at how easily it was to be talking to Sebastian again- like he had with Tommy.

But were Tommy and Sebastian that different though, he had wondered.

“Internal Affairs didn’t have proof, so they just took away my shield,” Sebastian said bitterly. “I’ve been back to being a beat cop for the last six months.”

After a long pause, he had asked the one question that scalded his thoughts. “Why me?”

Sebastian let out a soft sigh, his breath leaden with regret.

“At first, it was just about the job. I needed a way in fast into Cooper’s inner circle. So, I _charmed_ you,” Sebastian explained. He had chuckled thinking about all the smooth lines Sebastian had worked on him the night they met. “But then you kissed me.”

They had been spending time together for almost a month before he had agreed to a date with Sebastian- no, Tommy- and emboldened by the wine they had had at dinner, he had tiptoed up to press his lips to Sebastian’s- no, Tommy’s.

“All my life, I wanted to be a cop,” Sebastian had said as he drew lazy circles over his bandaged knee. “Both my parents were cops, and my parents’ fathers were cops. It was in my blood. I liked the black and white of it all. It was easy, it had order.”

He had nodded in agreement; he knew a little of what it was like to know the destiny in your blood. His was Anderson & Sons.

“And then there’s you,” Sebastian had breathed rather dreamily. “Suddenly, things weren’t _just_ black and white anymore- everything’s in colour with you.”

His heart had expanded at an alarming rate, suddenly too big and too full. Slowly, he had taken Sebastian’s hand.

“The night with the Triads?”

Sebastian had let out a small laugh. “I missed you. So much. I took every opportunity I could to shadow you, to make sure you were okay.”

His heart had expanded more than he ever thought possible. Sebastian, his guardian shadow.

“I just wanted to be close to you,” Sebastian had confessed, green eyes shining with tears.

“Then stay with me,” he had said.

He had started to concede that whatever the betrayal, whether he had shared his bed and his heart with Tommy or Sebastian, it had been real; it still was if the way his heart fluttered at the touch of Sebastian’s hand was anything to go by.

The betrayal hadn’t made a difference, he had realized. He still cared for Sebastian, he still loved him.

There’s a mechanical _click-tack_ behind the Triad leader when Sebastian pulls the hammer of his gun threateningly, the sound resonating in the darkened room. Slowly, Mike heeds the warning and nods in the direction of his security details. He hears the henchmen lowering their guns. Sebastian withdraws his away from the Triad leader’s head but notes how his finger is still tucked on the trigger.

“I read you wrong, Blaine Anderson,” Mike says, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “You’re not as... docile- as I had thought.”

Docile. The word claws at his skin. He’s heard it before; countless of times others viewed his role of the dutiful brother as submissive, how he’s supposedly malleable, _too nice_ \- as if being nice is an awful thing. It’s a mistake to consider his being nice meant he didn’t have space in his being to be ruthless.

“You’ll have your truce,” he finally says after some consideration, moving to stand next to Sebastian, their backs to the door. “No point in anyone else getting hurt, right?”

No more of his friends will die due to trivial disputes over business territories, like school children fighting in the schoolyard, he thinks. Cooper clearly has the upper hand. A truce won’t affect his business in the least.

Mike lets out a gleeful laugh, clapping his hands. “Sensible.”

“On one condition, though-” he says.

Then, with lightning reflexes, he pulls Sebastian’s second piece from the holster at his hips and fires a shot straight to the Triad leader’s kneecap.

The henchmen raise their guns, aiming at them but Sebastian draws on them first. The room stands at a stalemate, silent save for Mike whimpering in pain on the ground.

“That was for my friends,” he hisses. It’s not enough to fill the void his fallen friends left but shooting the one responsible for their deaths gives some semblance of satisfaction. “You have your truce now.”

Slowly, they back out of the room, Sebastian still training his gun at the henchmen. Mike glares at them but fails to do anything more.

“Like you said, _friend_ -” he calls over his shoulder. “- _all’s fair in love and war._ ”

\---END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments welcomed.
> 
> This story is inspired by several undercover storyline of police procedural dramas such as _Frequency_ and _Castle_.
> 
> Heilong means Black Dragon in Mandarin.


End file.
